Freedom In Foxholes
by BaldiDaughterChevy
Summary: Sam and Dean make their own peace and freedom in the midst of the war that is their life.


**Just a quick scene I worked out in honor of the Fourth of July! Based on the vision Sam and Dean had in heaven.**

 **Not really sure what the point is, just having fun.**

 **T for some cursing.**

 **Don't own these sweet, little killers.**

Dean makes Sam wait in the Impala while he dashes in to buy supplies. He doesn't tell him what he's getting, just elects him for the important job of making sure the car doesn't get stolen.

Dean's only 19, but when he sets the basket on the belt, he buys it all while barely drawing a second look from the cashier. Fake ID's and killer confidence comes in handy for more than just cracking cases.

He carries his purchases out and quickly loads them in the trunk, away from Sam's curious eyes.

They drive out to a field at the edge of town and Dean pulls off into the grass.

The night sky is so clear and perfect it's hard to look anywhere but up. The only town for miles is the one they just visited and it's a tiny, Mayberry-type town, so the light pollution doesn't crowd out the stars and you can see the entire milky-way sprawled out above. There's a cool, damp feeling to the air and it's so absolutely quiet-it's like he and Sam are the only two people on their own private planet. They lay down, side by side on the hood of the impala and settle in, Sam's long legs propped up in front of him and Dean resting on one arm. They look at the stars for a long time in silence.

Finally, Dean gets down, walks around to the trunk, and gets out the grocery bag. He comes back and sets the six-pack of beer between them, cracks a bottle open and offers it to Sam.

Sam looks up in shock. Dean has never offered to let him drink with him, he's only 15 and honestly, Dad would probably never have known the difference if he'd snuck a drink now and then, but Dean wouldn't hear of it.

"Go ahead, Sam. You could use it right now."

Sam doesn't have to ask what Dean's referring to-the last few weeks have been rough.

He takes it reverently and Dean nods, opening his own and raising it up.

"To...better hearing and quicker reflexes." Dean smirks and takes a long drink of his beer.

When he looks up, Sam is just holding his, frozen with a nauseated look on his face.

"You gonna wimp out on me before you take one sip, Sam?" Dean jokes. He nudges Sam with an elbow when he doesn't respond. "You alright, man?"

"I'm sorry." Sam whispers it and stays motionless, holding his untouched beer in both hands, the condensation is dripping down the bottle and over his fingers, his floppy hair hanging in his eyes as he looks down into his lap.

Dean thinks that this boy needs a haircut and a pep talk but definitely not in that order.

"It wasn't your fault, Sam." Dean says it with a tired-out tone, like he's been repeating it all week, which as a matter of fact, he has. "That spirit snuck up behind you and knocked you down and took your gun, could have happened to me or dad just as easy."

Sam is shaking his head so hard it's like he's gonna dislocate his neck. "No, no, no. You and dad both warned me, I just wasn't quick enough. I'm never quick enough."

Dean sighs, then flinches. Three weeks later and it still hurts when he inhales too deeply.

The ghost that stole Sam's gun had shot Dean square in the chest with a round of rock salt, and the phrase 'rubbing salt in your wound' had acquired new and graphic firsthand detail for him. He broke a rib and had to have John leaning over him for a solid hour, pulling fragments of salt out of his chest with a forceps-that was after Sam got screamed at for not listening and not moving fast enough.

He winces at the memory and then realizes that his toast was particularly insensitive.

Their Dad had the tendency to shout lectures as a way of coping with his fear of losing one of them. Dean was used to it, as much as he could be, but Sam...Sam never would be. Poor, sensitive girl that he was, he hadn't been handling this well, rolling in guilt like a pig in the mud. A long-haired, sad-eyed, pig that never knew how to crawl out of the muck, never knew how to let go of his own undeserved self-loathing.

"You need to stop staring at fucking walls with that kicked puppy look, Sam. Takes more than a little supercharged salt to keep me down. Besides, I've said *it wasn't your fault* so much I'm turning blue. This happens on hunts sometimes. These mistakes-and I'm not saying you made a mistake-" Dean clarifies quickly when Sam's head shoots up "accidents- are just part of the deal, Sammy. It's how you react that defines you. If you let it keep you down, let it shake your confidence, then you aren't gonna last five more minutes. And if you let yourself get hurt because of this...so fucking help me...I'll kill you."

Sam looks at Dean with side-eyed skepticism. "That makes no sense. And no you won't."

"Oh yeah?" Dean punches Sam in the arm lightly. "Take a sip of that beer and quit brooding or I'll knock your emo ass out."

Sam raises the bottle to his lips and takes a small sip. "Yayyyy!" Dean cheers mockingly. "Aww, Samantha's first beer. I better take a picture for the precious moments scrapbook."

"Shut up, Dean. Anyways it's not my first beer. My first beer was with Monica Ellers and her friends back in Richfield."

Dean chokes on the sip he's just taken."Monica...wait, you mean that leggy little brunette you walked out of school with that day?"

Sam nods, smiling and looking down at his lap again.

"Damn...good work, man! She was hot. What other firsts did you have with her?" Dean raises an eyebrow and Sam turns beet red.

"God, Dean! Shut up."

"Come on, Sammy. We had a pact!"

"I was not aware of any such pact that says I need to give you details of my sexual history."

"It's the code of brothers. It's an unwritten...wait...*so there's a history?!"*

"Oh my gawwd, Dean you're such a child." Sam scooches as far over on the hood of the car as he can but Dean is staring at him with this big, stupid grin on his face.

Sam shakes his head again and downs his beer in a couple sips.

"Just get the fireworks out of the trunk, Dean."

Dean looks at Sam in confusion and disappointment, "how did...how did you know I got fireworks?"

"Welllll let's see, you said you had a surprise, you waited till dad was asleep, you went back inside to get your lighter and your fake ID and it's the Fourth of July...elementary my dear, Watson." Sam smiles and Dean just squints.

"Who the hell is Watson? And why aren't we still talking about this Monica that you made sweet love to?"

"Dean. Shut up!"

Dean's still laughing as he gets off the hood and goes around to the trunk and unloads another bag. He brings the bag over and lays it all out on the trunk.

He's got a pack of bottle rockets and some smoke bombs and Roman candles.

He opens a pack of Snaps before Sam realizes what he's got and hurls a handful at him.

"Hey!" Sam jumps off the hood when they hit him in the leg and go off all at once with a chorus of bangs. "That hurt, Dean!" Sam stretches across the car and snatches a handful from the plastic baggy and throws them at Dean who dives out of the way at the last second, slipping in the wet grass and landing on his back.

"You throw like a girl, Sammy!" Dean's laying in the grass, laughing so hard his chest is burning but he doesn't care. "Sam...Sam?...What are you...?!"

He doesn't finish the sentence because Sam's towering over him and he throws the rest of the Snaps at Dean before he can scramble to his feet.

"Payback's a bitch, dude." Sam's laughing now too and he sits down beside Dean in the grass while they catch their breath.

Dean gets up after a second and gets two more beers, his empty bottle, and a pack of bottle rockets.

"Have another, Sammy." Dean hands Sam another beer. "You're old enough to drink beers with strange girls and then keep secrets about it, I guess you're old enough to have two in one night."

"If you bring this up one more time..."

Dean can hear the scowl in Sam's voice but the expression is lost in the dark.

Dean laughs, sticks a rocket in the empty beer bottle and lights the fuse. It sparks and fizzles and soon the white rocket goes streaking off towards the stars.

The boys spend hours in the field setting off fireworks and laughing and talking until the night fades and dawn brushes at the horizon.

As usual they build their own little world, escaping the darkness of their lives together and healing wounds the Winchester way-with alcohol, innuendos, and well-timed punches.

~End

 **Happy Fourth everyone! I hope you were out drinking and camping and watching fireworks and not inside writing fanfiction like my loser ass. xD**


End file.
